Emmantiensien
The god of the treants, Emmantiensien is neutral aligned. His home realm is the Seelie Court. Alignment: Chaotic GoodPortfolio: Trees, treants, natural magicDomains: Chaos, Good, Magic, PlantFavored Weapon: GreatclubKnown Proxies: Ushtisseht, NG quasi-power (24-HD treant) Drd 8 Emmantiensien is the ageless god of the treants. He is a World Tree who has no origin in any specific age; he has always existed. His roots are curled about a magical crystal, fashioned by some unknown and unnamed god, and from this crystal the Treant-King can draw power. Other sylvan deities, even Titania herself, cannot use it. He is the sage of the Seelie Court. He learns much from the wind that blows between the branches of his avatars and he can speak to songbirds and faerie folk. He notes the songs of the elves and the bards and his roots are so deep that he even hears the murmuring of beings deep within the core of the crystal spheres. He never forgets anything that he learns, but it may take him a while a retrieve the knowledge into his conscious mind. He speaks rarely, and his words are few, but when that rare event occurs the Seelie Court listens carefully. Emmantiensien’s avatar appears as an especially tall treant with well-sheened bark. The type of tree shifts with his mood, but he tends to favor elm, ash, and willow over all others. The Myth of Emmantiensien When the dragon-mother Asgorath hurled her ice moon down on Toril, it carved a mortal wound into the heart of the One Land. The life blood of Chauntea welled up to fill the great gash, forming the waters of the Sea of Fallen Stars. Fires raged across Faerûn, and ash rained from the sky to veil the face of Chauntea, enveloping her in a cold, grey shroud. Her mother thought her dead and wailed in grief. She wept so hard that the tears of Selûne still hang in the sky to this day. But Chauntea was not dead yet, and her children below struggled to preserve her. The Aearee cast their magics to warm the world and nurture what life remained. But the LeShay — the fey creator race — worked harder still. The LeShay prayed to the World Ash. And the Great Tree answered them, sending Emmantiensien into the world. Some say he strode through a portal from the Feywild. Others say he sprang from a tiny acorn, growing to a fantastical height in all of a moment. Sages argue whether he was 300 feet, 400 feet or even seven miles high, but they all agree he could stand astride the Demlimbyr with plenty of room to spare between his massive, burled trunks. For seven years the treant god walked the face of the One Land, from one shore to the other, and back again. With every breath his powerful lungs inhaled the ash and smoke and filtered it from the air. The transpiration from his leaves sprinkled mist on the ground below, a sweet balm to soothe the burnt skin of Chauntea. Seeds fell from his branches like hail; oak, and ash and poplar. Mulberry, sycamore, pine and baobab. Mangrove, cedar and laurel; he scattered the fruit of every living tree. With each step, his roots broke the crust of the soil, piercing holes to receive the seeds. And at his passing, a swath of green erupted in his wake. For each forest he restored, the Treant Lord dropped a single, golden acorn that would grow into an arakhor, a treant-father, called great protectors by the elves. The seeds of the arakhora, in turn, spawned the first treants — tenders and guardians of the forests. At the end of the Long Night, after seven years of ice and ash, the sun dawned again across the face of the One Land. Chauntea awoke from her deathly slumber, and the world rejoiced. When the first red rays of morning touched his leaves, the Tree Lord began to grow. Ten leagues high, a hundred leagues high, a thousand leagues high; Emmantiensien grew up into the sky until the great canopy of his leaves cast one final shadow across the continent and obscured the vault of heaven. By the time that night had fallen, Emmantiensien had grown so tall that the top of him vanished into the Sea of Night and was lost among the stars. Stars! They could see stars again! The children of Toril marveled at the stars that shined from between his branches like glistening drops of dew upon his myriad leaves. By midnight, his colossal, gnarled feet uprooted themselves and began to draw up into the sky. When next the sun rose, the Lord of All Trees was gone. He had pulled his great trunks up behind him into the night, and was never seen again to walk the land. Even today, when you gaze up at the night sky, you can see him still up there, set among the stars as the constellation Arshanta, which means "great tree" in the elven tongue. There he rests, his trunks rooted deeply in the soil of night, drinking deep the silver moonlight and basking in the glow of stars. From the vault of heaven he stares in adoration at the face of Chauntea and watches over her, patiently, ever vigilant, until the end of time. Go to Top of Page Category:Intermediate deities